This Cold Land
by Emachinescat
Summary: Raiders from the North attack Camelot, but plundering the coastal villages isn't all they want. They want the prince, but having never seen him before, accidentally grab the wrong man. While Arthur sets off on an impossible quest to find Merlin, the servant finds himself miles from home in frozen lands across the sea, the captive of brutal Vikings who think he's the prince.
1. Prologue: Onäm the Mighty

This Cold Land

A Merlin Fan-Fiction by Emachinescat

Summary: Raiders from the North attack Camelot, but plundering the coastal villages isn't all they want. They want the prince, but having never seen him before, accidentally grab the wrong man. While Arthur sets off on an impossible quest to find Merlin, the servant himself miles from home in frozen lands across the sea, the captive of brutal Vikings who think he's the prince.

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**A/N: Yay! I****'****m back, this time with a brand new, full-length Merlin fan-fiction! :) This is actually a sort of combination of fics that have been circling in my mind for a while. Inspired loosely by the episode _Lancelot and Guinevere_ in season 2 and John Flannagan****'****s _The Icebound Land_, this is a fan-fiction that is going to take Merlin further away from Camelot than he****'****s ever been****…**** and into more danger, adventure, and whumpiness than he knows! :D Expect whump, BA!Merlin, bromance, action, magic, adventure, chaos, Vikings, and lots and lots of snow! XD Enjoy, and please read and review! **

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**This Cold Land**

**Prologue: Onäm the Mighty**

Onäm the Mighty was the most feared man on the longship, perhaps in all of Holbaek. He stood well over six feet tall; he had an enormous barreled chest and bulging muscles defined his arms and legs. His hair was a matted, braided mess of red, brown, and gray as was his beard, and his face was so scarred that it seemed to have been carved by an inexperienced sculptor. His nose was once long, but now it curved downward drastically, due to the seven times it had been broken. He wore a sleeveless tunic and thin breeches, with only a helmet and breastplate for protection. Attached to his belt was a broad sword and a mace. He never wore or took anything more into battle, yet he always came out victorious. His bloodlust and lack of mercy were both admired and feared by allies and enemies alike. No one crossed Onäm, and if they did, Odin rest their souls.

Despite his fervor for battle and his notorious knack for leaving no survivors, Onäm was not the most intelligent Viking in the land. Still, what he lacked in brains he made up for in brute strength and no mercy. He had been chosen to lead this latest pillage with his crew because someone with the power and bloodlust like Onäm was needed to procure the most valuable prize in this endeavor While plundering the coastal villages in the great land of Camelot was the plan, there was something other than food, slaves, or riches, and Onäm would stop at nothing until he had procured his quarry.

He stood on the ship's deck, a spray of salty, frigid ice water hitting his disfigured face. A small, brown-haired lad, his servant, Kol, scurried to his side. "Sorry, Sir, but after the storm yesterday, the Captain said we're a bit off course. We'll be a few days off our planned schedule."

Onäm gripped the rail of the deck, his steely blue eyes glowering out at the endless ocean, the dragon-headed mast of the longship, and finally his gaze landed on Kol's anxious face. "Well, we'll just have to make up for lost time by being _extra _vigilant in our attack," Onäm mused, smirking. "We've never raided so close to Camelot before; those worthless villagers should get to know the wrath of Onäm. And then, I shall have the ultimate prize. By this time next year, the ransom will have been paid for Camelot's beloved prince and Holbaek will be the wealthiest village in all the Frozen Lands."

Kol nodded. "And then you won't have to go on any more raids for years."

Onäm smiled wickedly. "No. But that does not mean that we won't! Soon you will learn, Kol, that there are some things you do not do simply for the money, but for pleasure itself. And what I do… brings me great pleasure." His smile darkened and a hungry gleam took over his eyes. "Now go back to the Captain and tell him to make sure we move as fast as the winds will take us. We're going to have a guest soon, and I simply cannot _wait_ to meet him."

Kol scurried away as quickly as his scrawny legs could carry him, and Onäm made a note to punish the boy for the Captain's delay later. He then stared out at the frothing ocean and imagined the fear in the eyes of the villagers when they realized that their homes were under attack. He thought of the prince, and how much fun it would be to break royalty, to show Camelot's heir who held the true power in this world. It wasn't the great cities and empires like many believed, but the villages, the plunderers, the outcasts. The Vikings.

And Onäm was the greatest Viking to ever live.

Of course, there was still the small problem of not knowing what this brat of a prince looked like, but Onäm figured it would be easy enough to find him. And if for some reason, he wasn't able to discern which noble was Prince Arthur, well… Onäm wasn't against slitting a few throats in order to acquire the information.

In fact, he was counting on it.

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**A/N: As you guys can probably tell by the description, things don****'****t exactly go as On****ä****m plans when it comes to capturing the prince****…**** But as for how and why, you****'****ll have to wait and find out! ;) I really hope you enjoyed even this little introduction, and just know****…**** you are in for the ride of your lives! Please review, and I****'****ll update as soon as I can!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	2. Chapter One: Raiders in Gedref

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. It's midterm week and I've had test after test after test. I still have two more tests this week and I _should _be studying for them, but I needed a break and have been dying to update this story! Thank you all so much for your reviews! 41 for the prologue? Wowsers! You guys rule! Thanks to everyone who favorited/followed as well. Just so you're aware, this takes place later on in season 3. Enjoy, and please review! :)**

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**This Cold Land**

**Chapter One: Raiders in Gedref**

"Arthur. Thank you for joining us. At last."

Arthur fought back a grimace at the exasperation in his father's voice. Behind him, Merlin twitched, and Arthur made a mental note to kill him after the council meeting was over. Merlin had been late – again – this morning. Normally, Arthur would simply throw something at his good-for-nothing servant, Merlin would (more often than not) dodge it but get hit anyway because he was terrible at dodging, Arthur would call him an idiot, he'd call Arthur a prat, and that would be that. But this morning, there was a council meeting that Merlin had known about _last night_, but still the servant had been nearly half an hour late in waking his master, causing the prince to be unfashionably late for the meeting. King Uther had _not_ been amused, meaning that Arthur was not amused. Merlin wasn't so much of an idiot that he couldn't figure out what _that_ meant. He was in so much trouble!

Arthur cleared his throat in embarrassment, feeling the eyes of the council on him. He noted that Gaius was pointedly avoiding Merlin's direction and understood that the physician didn't want his ward to get into trouble with the king if he could help it. Merlin _had_ been late, but Arthur understood. His father hadn't been in the best of moods lately, and as irritated as Arthur was at the servant, he certainly didn't want to see him flogged for his ineptitude. Arthur made no mention of why he was late, also ignoring the servant behind him, and said, "I apologize, Father. It was unfair of me to make the council wait, especially when you have urgent news. Is it Cenred?"

The king studied his son for the briefest of moments before he seemed to accept the apology and move on. "Surprisingly, no. Cenred has been unusually quiet lately. This may simply mean that he is up to no good. The treaty between us is frail, failing. No one from Camelot can risk crossing the border. We are inches away from war, yet he does not make a move. This is a concern, but one for another day. Something just as grave has begun, this time in the area of Gedref."

Arthur knew this part of Camelot well. It was home to an ancient labyrinth. No one knew where the labyrinth came from, or who kept it up (it was composed of hedges), and no one ever asked. It was simply there, a gift from the ancients, perhaps, but most people from Camelot avoided the labyrinth because it had a mystical feel to it and anything mystical or magical was outlawed in Camelot. Arthur had been through it before, years ago, in order to atone for the destruction of a unicorn. It was there that he had drunk what he had thought to be poison to save Camelot – and to save Merlin's life.

The people of Gedref were right – the labyrinth _did _have connections to the mystic, for Amphora, keeper of the unicorns, had specified it as the location for Arthur's final test. From the slight shifting behind him, Arthur knew that Merlin was remembering the labyrinth as well. Either that, or he was getting antsy after being at the meeting for less than five minutes, which, knowing Merlin, was equally likely.

"Is it magic?" one of the councilmen asked, silver eyebrows knit in concern. "I have heard many a strange tale coming from that part of the kingdom. Anything as strange and twisted as the labyrinth cannot be good."

"No; rather, it has to do with the villages near the sea to the east of the labyrinth." There were several coastal villages in the area. The labyrinth opened up onto the beach, but several miles down, the beach turned into fishing and harbor towns.

Arthur was concerned at the seriousness in Uther's face and voice. "What is it, Sire?"

"Raiders. From across the sea."

Arthur blinked. He had heard tales, strange lore from the Western Isles about seafaring marauders with fearsome ships. According to the stories, they swept to land like a great dragon, rowed to shore with axes, swords, maces, and whips, and had horns like demons and spikes like a dragon's spine. They carried torches and burnt homes, carted off anything of value – sometimes even women and children – and then, as quickly as they came, they were gone, leaving destruction in their wake.

"I thought they were just a legend," said Gaius, beating Arthur to his incredulous response. "You are sure that these are not just bandits?"

"The escapees that fled to Camelot for aid described everything that they saw. I would have called the meeting sooner, but I had to find out everything that I could before we came to a decision. Apparently, these raiders have stationed themselves in the town. They have docked their ships on _our_ harbors, made themselves comfortable in our people's homes, and are eating their food, packing up their gold and livestock, and killing anyone who challenges them. No one is allowed in or out of the villages."

Arthur knew exactly what had to be done. "We have to stop them," he said. "Drive them out of the village, show them that we are not afraid. Camelot's army is far stronger than their small fleet of ships. This is not like other kingdoms. We will fight back."

Uther dipped his head in agreement. "Arthur, you will lead this mission. I want you to take only one other knight at first, to survey the situation. I will send thirty more an hour or so behind you for the attack. Take your servant with you and send him back with a message for reinforcements if the enemy is greater than anticipated. Do not attack until you have more men, Arthur. I know you dislike to see Camelot's people suffering, as do I, but I will not lose you because of a rash decision to act on your own. Is this understood."

Arthur nodded, even though he did not like the thought of sitting by, watching and waiting for reinforcements while innocent people suffered longer than they must.

"Good," said Uther. "Prepare for the quest; you leave at once."

* * *

" I've heard stories about these raiders," said Merlin as he hurried to catch up with Arthur after the meeting was adjourned. Arthur was on his way to his chambers where Merlin was going to help him into his armor and pack for the journey. "But I didn't think they were real."

Arthur didn't respond.

"It's weird, though, isn't it? Because people say that they come and go. They don't stay or occupy the villages. So why're they doing it now?"

Still no reply.

"It's like there's more going on that we can't see," Merlin mused, either not aware or not caring that Arthur was ignoring him. Arthur quickened his pace, but so did Merlin. There was no escaping the constantly late, prattling idiot. "I dunno, Arthur, it doesn't feel right. Maybe you should—"

Arthur finally responded, wheeling around in the middle of the corridor and snapping, "Should what? Stay here and let my people suffer? Cower because of some legend from across the sea? Listen to the idiot whose tardiness made _me_ look like an idiot in front of my father and the entire council, because he has a bad _feeling_ about murderous raiders?"

Merlin blinked at the hostility in Arthur's tone. The prince, angry because a new threat was hurting Camelot that he knew virtually nothing about, and irritated at his servant for his lateness, wasn't done yet. "I protected you from my father this morning, Merlin, though only God knows why. With everything that is going on right now, he would probably have you flogged. You've got to start taking your job seriously, or I will not be able to help you anymore and you'll be on your own. There's only so much I can do for you." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Go find Leon and make sure he is ready to depart. You can help me into my armor when you get back."

Merlin didn't respond, simply turning on his heel and walking off. "Merlin…"

Merlin turned.

"…the knights' quarters are that way." Arthur pointed in the opposite direction.

"I knew that," said Merlin testily, and Arthur couldn't help but crack a tiny smile that Merlin didn't see because his back was turned.

"Of course you did, Merlin."

Arthur continued on his way, guilt about his hostility toward Merlin warring for precedence in his mind with worry for the people of Gedref's coastal villages.

* * *

Merlin knew that Arthur was worried. He also knew that Arthur hadn't had breakfast, and a combination of the two made for a grumpy and overly harsh master. Merlin realized that the worry wasn't his fault, although the breakfast thing most definitely was. If he hadn't overslept, he would have woken the prince up in time to actually get something to eat. As it was, it was mid-morning already and Arthur still had an empty stomach. Since Merlin understood what Arthur was feeling, he didn't challenge the prince as much as he normally would have after Arthur's angry words. Besides, Merlin was just as concerned about the raiders as Arthur was. Like most people in Camelot, he had heard whispers of these giant men who destroyed lives and stole livelihoods, but this newest development did not match anything that Merlin had ever heard.

He couldn't explain it; maybe it was his magic, or maybe pure intuition, but somehow, he knew that something was wrong. He knew that Arthur would go with only Leon and Merlin no matter what the latter said to convince him otherwise. After all, the king had ordered it to be so. It was obvious that Uther did not think that a scouting mission would be this dangerous, but he wanted someone he trusted completely to send back news of the goings on in Gedref, and so he was sending his son. Since Arthur was too proud to take anyone else anyway, and was known for doing stupid and reckless things when someone was in danger, Merlin knew that he would just have to be extra vigilant in order to protect Arthur.

It should be simple, really, because Merlin was used to shielding his master from powerful witches, sorcerers, and magical creatures. Mortal men, no matter how large or foreign, should be a breeze to protect him from.

So why did he feel so anxious?

* * *

Kol approached his master hesitantly. Onäm was reclining on a villager's bed, in their home, while the terrified family huddled together in the corner of the bedroom. Two Vikings stood inside of the only exit, daring the woman or her two teenage sons to try and escape. The father had already tried, and had been cut down in cold blood. His body still lay in the doorway, lifeless, while his agonized family shook in the corner with silent, horrified sobs. Kol's stomach twisted violently and he forced himself to focus on the task at hand and not at the merciless cruelty of his people. No, not _his_ people, he reminded himself. Never his people. Not again, not after…

He shook himself mentally. As much as he detested the situation he was in, he had to do his job, and at this moment, said job was reporting the information that Onäm's right hand man, Alrik, had discovered about the prince's identity.

"Sir?"

Onäm turned his steely, ever-bloodthirsty gaze to his servant, and Kol had to force his knees to stop trembling. "You'd better have good news, you little swine," his master sneered. "Otherwise… I may change my mind about lessening your punishment for our delay."

Kol gulped, knowing that the only reason the man had decided to "lessen" the punishment was so that he could use it to control his servant and make him even more miserable. "Good news, Sir. Alrik sent me to tell you that he has obtained invaluable information about this prince."

Onäm smiled, but this only served to make him appear more terrifying. "Oh, my dear lad… do tell."

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**A/N: So… these dudes don't mess around! A bit of tension between Merlin and Arthur as well, although we all know that Arthur's not really mad at Merlin. He's just being Arthur, and taking out all of his frustrations on his poor, adorable servant lol! ;) And chances are, he's going to feel much worse about the things that he said in a little while, when more things happen and the plot… thickens. It's funny how we never know quite what we've got until it's gone… And that's enough spoilers for now, other than: Things are really going to speed up next chapter. Please review and I'll update as soon as I possibly can! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	3. Chapter Two: Mistaken Identity

**A/N: Thank you all once more for all of those awesome reviews! You guys are FAN-tastic! Sorry once again for the delay, but school, homework, and my boyfriend have been stealing much of my time. Not that I mind that last one in the slightest. :) I have come up with a new updating schedule, however, and hopefully I will be able to stick to it and update this story once a week, every Monday. *crosses fingers* :) One other thing: I struggled for a while, trying to decide if I wanted Morgana and Morgause to play a role in the plot. I've decided that yes, they will be (Morgana in particular), but they are _not_ the main bad guys, mainly the catalyst of sorts. Now, enough of my blabbering. I hope you enjoy, and please review! :D**

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**This Cold Land**

**Chapter Two: Mistaken Identity**

"This is _not_ good."

Arthur took a moment to glance away from the occupied village, glaring at his servant. Merlin was crouching behind some bushes near the crest of a hill that overlooked the coast, sandwiched between his master and Sir Leon. "Really, Merlin?" Arthur hissed irritably at the servant. "Because it looks wonderful to me! The entire village is occupied by these bloodthirsty animals, my people are terrified and _dying_, and all I have is one knight and my idiot servant, whose only talent seems to be stating the obvious!" He said this in a hoarse whisper.

"Arthur, your father is sending reinforcements," Leon reminded the prince kindly. "If Merlin will ride back to Camelot, the king will send more men, and sooner."

Arthur kneaded the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "I know, I know. Merlin—"

"I don't think I should go," said Merlin suddenly, interrupting Arthur. "You're already in a delicate state of mind over this, and I don't want to come back to find that you've gotten yourself killed because you're not thinking straight."

Arthur glowered. "_Merlin_. _I_ am a knight. _I _obey orders, unlike some people, and _I_ will not charge ahead without backup when the king ordered me not to."

Merlin sighed. "I know. But I also know that you are the kind of knight, the kind of prince that cannot stand to see your people suffer."

Arthur looked at Merlin, and for a moment, Merlin felt as if he could see through the prince's icy blue eyes and into his very soul. The sadness at what was being done to his people, the anger at those who were inflicting the pain, and the determination to set this right shone in Arthur's gaze. And just as suddenly, the door was shut and Arthur's face and eyes were as impassive as ever. "Do me a favor, Merlin, and stop trying to be a hero. Ride back to Camelot, immediately, and tell my father that we need more men _now_."

Merlin, realizing that he had no choice but still hesitant to leave Arthur and Leon alone in this situation, turned and got ready to stand when a voice rang out from his left. "I'm afraid to say that I cannot let any of you leave, my lord."

Merlin turned his head, craning to look at the trees surrounding the hill, and to his surprise, several well-muscled, fur-clad men with gleaming helms and battle axes were slipping out of the woods with surprising stealth. Arthur, Merlin, and Leon all stood to face the new threat, but found that they were surrounded by six of the raiders. The leader, who had been the one to speak, was by far the largest man Merlin had ever laid eyes on. His face was scarred, his arms were bulging, and his hair was matted. Arthur raised his sword, ready to fight, but before he could land the first blow, the man spoke again and his voice was cruel, harsh, and unusually accented. It was obvious, not only by his outlandish appearance, but by the way he spoke, that he was not from Camelot, or anywhere remotely close to it.

"What do you want?" Arthur demanded angrily. "Why do you continue to plague this village?"

"We came only for one thing, Sir Knight," said the man, grinning wickedly. "And once we have it, you'll be free to go."

"I ask you again, _what_ do you want?"

"The prince," the raider said. His eyes scanned the three men before him. He smiled. "And luckily for me, he's already here. I have to say, your highness, you don't _look_ very princely."

Arthur's mouth opened indignantly to protest what he was sure to have thought an outrageously insulting, but he never got around to it. The leader, still smiling darkly, ordered, "Get them."

* * *

Morgana ducked behind an old house – more of a hovel, really – and slipped away from the chaos of the village of Gedref. No one noticed her leaving because they had never seen her arrive. She had snuck in, worked some magic, and now, having completed her task, was leaving the village to its fate. Soon the raiders would have what they wanted, and they would leave Camelot. She had nothing else to do here.

She walked briskly away from the village along the sandy coastline dotted with spots of grass, her red cloak billowing behind her. Suddenly, the odd feeling came over her that she was being watched. She spun around to see an old woman several feet behind her, wrapped in a shawl. She knew who this was, and was surprised and grateful to see her sister here, disguised by magic as an old crone.

"Sister," Morgana said, making her way back to Morgause, the sand sticking to her shoes and slowing her down. "What are you doing here?"

The old woman smiled knowingly and briefly embraced Morgana. "I know you too well, Sister," she said, "and I knew that once word of the raiders from across the sea came to Camelot, you would want to see for yourself."

"I can take care of myself," Morgana protested, but in actuality she was pleased that Morgause wanted to make sure that she didn't run into any trouble. "And I overheard something. Apparently, they want Arthur."

Morgause's eyes were wide. "If we allow them to take the prince, we will not be able to deal with him ourselves when the time is upon us. We may yet have further need of the boy, Morgana."

"I know," Morgana smirked. "After all, if there's anything that Arthur is good for, it's being manipulated, and through him, it is easier to get to Uther. I do not pretend to know all of your plans, Morgause, but I do understand that Arthur may very well be a part of them. So I made sure that they wouldn't take him." She smiled deviously, proud of her initiative.

"How?" Morgause questioned.

"They didn't know anything about Arthur," Morgana replied slyly, "and so I used magic to ensure that the people they questioned about the identity of the prince gave them the wrong description…"

* * *

Arthur was furious. The three of them had put up a good fight (even Merlin, who had somehow wound up with one of the bandit's swords), but as it turned out, they were even more helplessly outnumbered than the prince had previously assumed. There were about four more of their attackers lying in wait in the woods, and they came out to join their comrades as soon as they saw that between Arthur and Leon (Merlin wasn't putting up _that_ good of a fight), the tides were being turned.

Arthur knew one thing: he was _not_ going to let these men take him. They probably wanted to ransom him, which meant that while they would have no problem wounding him, they wouldn't kill him. Still, he was losing ground, he was exhausted, and despite his sheer, stubborn refusal to be beaten, it was three (or two and a half, Arthur thought in exasperation as he saw Merlin flat on the ground, eyes wide; _this_ was the Merlin he was used to seeing) against ten and these men were monsters. He watched as Merlin struggled to his feet and dove out of the way of a broken branch that one of the new reinforcements was wielding. Leon was panting, bleeding, and bruised, and Arthur knew that he himself had acquired some injuries. The extent of these, however, he didn't know.

Finally it was over. Leon and Merlin were both weaponless, and Arthur's arms were so drained that he could barely lift his own sword. The prince's head was light and fuzzy and he vaguely wondered if he had gotten hit on the head at one point. He felt the warm trickle of blood seeping down his face.

Two swords, a battle axe, and a tree branch were now at his throat and Arthur saw that already, Leon and Merlin were being bound by the raiders. Arthur had no choice, and although he hated surrendering, sometimes that was what a knight had to do. He only hoped that his father would hurry up and send the reinforcements already; it had to have been close to an hour by now. With a growl of anger, Arthur threw down his sword and put his hands in the air, signaling his surrender. Immediately, his arms were dragged behind his back and bound there securely. He grunted as he felt a cut in his arm stretch and felt blood soaking through his sleeve beneath the chainmail. The prince grimaced, realizing that his injuries might be a bit worse than he thought. His vision was blurry.

Their prisoners bound and gagged, the ten burly men took a step back and stared in satisfaction at their work. "You know," said one with curly blonde hair and a horned helmet on his oversized head that was so scarred it looked like a bear had chewed on it for a while, "it was a clever trick, that." Arthur had no idea what the man was talking about and he could feel his mind wandering with the pain in his head, arm, and side. "Dressing as a commoner as a means of keeping yourself safe and invisible. Too bad your own people are cowards, Prince Arthur. With the right incentive, they told me many things about their 'beloved' prince."

Arthur was _quite_ confused now, because he was pretty sure that he was wearing chainmail and armor and not common clothing. He glanced hazily at his companions and saw that Leon's eyes were wide and that Merlin, the quietest Arthur had ever heard him due to the gag, looked as baffled as the prince. Arthur found himself checking the servant over for injuries, even in his bleary state, and it didn't look like Merlin had sustained more than a small cut on his shoulder. Arthur wondered how that had come about, considering Leon looked worse for the wear and he himself was beaten like hell.

Their captors were speaking again, but Arthur found himself going in and out, only hearing bits and pieces of what was going on. "… for ransom … if your father cooperates … home … someday … best behave … never said what condition … sent home in … now just for fun—"

There was a loud smack and then a groan, and Arthur forced his eyes open to see that Leon had just been clobbered by the leader of the men and he knew that Merlin would be next. _Just for fun_. There was no reason for the men to knock their enemies out; they were tied up and helpless until help arrived. There was also no reason not to kill them, but Arthur, even in his dazed state, knew that it was not mercy that stayed their hand, but the idea of the sense of failure they would feel when they woke and discovered their prince was gone. Arthur took as deep of a breath as he could through the pain, knowing that he was about to be taken. He would have to try _something_ to escape; he wasn't going to be taken on their ships as a prisoner.

Arthur heard Merlin grunt in surprise and looked toward the serving boy, expecting to see him sprawled on the ground, unconscious. Instead, he was awake and fighting as he was pulled to his feet by a mess of the raiders. What were they doing with his servant? If they harmed a hair on his head, Arthur would—

Arthur never got to finish his mental threat. There was a blinding flash of pain, a rainbow of red, black and white obscuring his vision, and then all went dark and silent.

* * *

Merlin struggled wildly, his stomach clenched in fear as he was hauled away from an unconscious Arthur and Leon. What the hell was going on? For some reason, these men had it in their heads that _he_ was Prince Arthur. If Merlin hadn't been gagged, he would have been _glad _to set the record straight and inform them that he could _never_ be as big of a prat as the true Prince Arthur.

But because of this confusion, Arthur was safe. Well, he had been hit on the head, but he hadn't been taken prisoner. Merlin glanced around at the gathered villagers who watched with hope as the raiders began packing up their ship with the village's belongings. It seemed to Merlin that they didn't care that their things were being stolen, only that these monsters were out of their homes.

Merlin didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to use magic to make the ropes snap and make an escape, but the other part wanted to wait for Uther's reinforcements so that he could know Arthur was alright before he acted, just in case something went wrong. Then he saw where they were prodding him toward, and he made up his mind. Apparently, they knew that help would be on the way and they were getting ready to set sail as soon as possible. Merlin wasn't going to risk being put on that boat and taken away. He'd escape and while they were looking for him, they would be delayed.

He closed his eyes briefly to hide the flash of gold and the ropes snapped. He was surrounded by four raiders, each about four times bigger than him, but he used surprise to his advantage. Hands free, he ducked down and dove between the legs of one of the men. There was a shout of anger and shock as Merlin darted away, tearing the gag away from his mouth. He had to keep them busy until Uther's reinforcements arrived.

But, as per usual, Merlin hadn't exactly thought everything through. Yes, he had managed to escape the clutches of four men, but there were another two dozen or more in the village. Merlin discreetly used magic to make two of his pursuers slip in a mud puddle that wasn't there before. Three tripped over stones. Two more ran into clotheslines. Merlin was just about at one of the houses, which he hoped would have a back door to let him out of the confines of the village. He planned to cut through the house as a shortcut and use magic to confuse the raiders. Then, the plan was a bit fuzzy, but it basically consisted of: Run like hell and get to Arthur.

He was reaching for the door handle when the door itself was swung open from the inside, smacking Merlin in the forehead and knocking him over. He lay there, stunned, and saw that a thin, brown-haired boy a few years younger than himself was staring at him from the doorstep, having just flung open the door and unknowingly hindered Merlin's escape.

Merlin, dazed, struggled to his feet but it was too late. They were on him, and this time they weren't taking any chances. He saw the fist coming at him, but it was too late to stop it. It crashed into his skull and everything went dark.

* * *

Kol stared at what he had just done. He had heard chaos from outside of the house he was supposed to be searching for loot and had run to the door, throwing it open to see what was going on. Unfortunately for the fleeing Prince Arthur, Kol had always had an uncanny knack for clumsiness resulting in injuries, whether they be to himself or the other party. With a smack, the door hit the skinny, dark-haired prince in common garb and he toppled over, stunned.

Kol simply stared at the prince, thinking to himself that the prince did not look very princely. The two locked eyes for a second, and Kol saw fear, anger, and power there. Power so great that for a moment, the young Viking apprentice nearly backed away. Now he could see the prince in the boy.

Then the Vikings swarmed the prince and Kol knew that the fight was over. Onäm strode away from the scuffle as Alrik and Erak hauled the unconscious boy to the ship. The leader then turned back, eyes gleaming maliciously. "There might be hope for you yet, boy. You caught the prince. You won't be punished for the captain's delay tonight." Kol felt relief in knowing that he wasn't going to have to deal with an angry master later. A bit of guilt sunk into his mind, however, at Onäm's next words.

"I'll punish the prince instead."

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**A/N: Cue dramatic music! :) Hope you're still enjoying. I had a blast writing this chapter. If you've seen my new updating schedule, you'll know that I plan to update this story once a week, every Monday. Be looking for chapter 3 on Monday, and if for some reason I'm not able to post on time, I'll let you know ahead of time through Facebook or Twitter. If you want to be able to get these updates, like me on Facebook (I'm Emachinescat, obviously, LOL) or follow me on Twitter (xEmachinescatx). That'll definitely keep you in the know with my stories, thoughts, and ideas. Please, oh, please review! I'll update Monday (maybe even sooner)! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	4. Chapter Three: While We Were Waking

**A/N: So, so sorry for the wait, all! :) I shouldn't be nearly as long between updates anymore, my muse is back and here to stay! I've got a lot of excuses, but I won't go into them. Instead, let's get back to the story! Enjoy, and please REVIEW! :)**

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**This Cold Land**

**Chapter Three: While We Were Waking**

Arthur woke up slowly. He didn't remember what had happened at first, and found himself wondering where he was, how he had gotten there, and perhaps most importantly, what he was doing there. He seemed to be lying on something soft, as well as _under_ something soft, and his mind was so muddled that it took him a good five minutes of heavy reasoning to realize that this must mean he was in a bed, and judging by the high comfort level and the softness of the blankets over him, it was probably his own bed.

Ah. So that answered question number one. Now for the other two.

He didn't remember getting into bed, so after another five minutes of deep, intense thought, he surmised that this might mean that someone had put him in the bed. Then again, he realized, he couldn't remember much of anything right now, so he might have very well climbed into bed after a long, grueling day of training and simply not remember it. Something about the latter scenario didn't set well with the prince, however, and he decided that it probably wasn't the case. If the pounding in his head, lack of memory, and the various aches over his body were anything to go by, he'd gotten injured and had been put to bed by someone else.

If his reasoning were right, then he had just answered the last two questions in one: He had been tucked in his bed by someone because he had been hurt. There, that sounded reasonable. And it had only taken him a quarter of an hour to figure it out!

But if this were the case, then _how_ had he gotten hurt, and what had happened? He decided that he might be able to figure this out easier if he were to actually open his eyes and look around, but he found that he didn't really want to. His eyelids were so heavy that he couldn't bring himself to lift them. He'd go back to sleep for a little while, and then when he had woken up and was feeling better, he'd call for Merlin and find out just what had happened –

Merlin.

A pang of anxiety shot through Arthur's chest, and he tried to figure out why the mere thought of his clumsy servant's name worried him so much. Something had happened, something quite bad, as far as Arthur could tell, and the swirl of uneasiness in his gut at the thought of Merlin indicated that whatever it was, Arthur's servant was the crux of it, or at the very least, involved in it somehow.

Arthur battled with his bleary mind for a good moment or two before deciding that he had to wake up and remember what Merlin had done this time. There was no end to the amount of trouble that Merlin was capable of getting himself into, and Arthur wasn't going to be any good getting the ridiculous idiot out of it if he were laid up in bed.

Determined, Arthur struggled to open his eyes and felt a sense of triumph when he finally succeeded and his eyelids fluttered open. His vision swam for a few seconds as he tried to get used to consciousness, and then he focused on the view that was right in his line of sight. It was a rich, red canopy, and he realized with pride that his instincts had been right – he was indeed in his bed.

With a great deal of effort (and some rather un-princely grunting), Arthur managed to roll his body over slightly, so that he was looking to the left. There, seated in his favorite chair, watching him with mismatched eyebrows and a defeated facial expression, was Gaius. The physician gave Arthur a wan smile when he saw that his charge had woken, but did not react otherwise. Arthur took this as a hint that he had to take the initiative and start the conversation, even if his mouth felt like a leech had sucked all of the moisture out of it, and then some.

"Gaius," Arthur rasped. "Wha' happ'ned?"

Gaius, for his part, looked quite ashamed that he had not come to his patient's aid sooner, and leaped to his feet faster than Arthur thought possible for the old man. He walked out of Arthur's line of sight and came back moments later with a cup of water, which he proceeded to help Arthur gulp down several sips of. When Arthur had had his fill and his mouth didn't feel like a desert, he asked his question again, this time with all the proper syllables in place.

"What happened, Gaius?"

Gaius looked mildly concerned as he pulled his chair closer to Arthur's bed and sat down. "You don't remember, Sire?"

An anxious Arthur was never a patient Arthur, and this occasion was no exception. Arthur stopped himself from making a sarcastic and biting remark about how he wouldn't have very well asked if he could remember, now could he, reminding himself that this was Gaius he was talking to and not Merlin, and the aged physician who had done so much for the royal family deserved better than Arthur's snippy retorts.

"No," he answered in a forced-calm voice. "Not much, anyway. I just know that Merlin has something to do with whatever's going on." When he saw the agonized look that passed over Gaius's face at the mention of his ward, Arthur knew that he was on the right track with his hunch. Despite his concern, Arthur took a moment to inwardly congratulate himself for his remarkable mental capabilities, even when all but incapacitated. "Gaius… tell me. Where's Merlin?" Arthur tried to pretend that the worried knot in his stomach wasn't growing with each passing moment, and when it grew to the point that it could no longer be ignored, Arthur changed strategies and tried to pretend that the knot hadn't stemmed from worry about Merlin. That didn't quite work, either, but Arthur didn't really care.

Gaius was in full physician mode now, leaning in to look into Arthur's eyes, feel his brow, and check his wounds – which apparently consisted of a bad lump on his head, a gash on one arm, some major bruises on his chest, and a pretty nasty cut on his right shin. Arthur huffed when Gaius opted to examine him before answering his question, but Gaius ignored him.

When he had finally finished, Gaius sat back down and said, "You should really try to remember yourself, Sire. I believe that your loss of memory is very temporary, spawned from the trauma to your head. If I simply hand your answers to you, your brain may not feel the need to recover as soon as possible. Try to remember."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, which resulted in a flash of pain in his head (that wasn't his smartest move) and asked, "Are you trying to… blackmail… my brain into working again?"

Gaius gave a half smile and shrugged. "You can call it what you will, Arthur, but I do believe that your mind will react better if you at least _attempt _to remember."

Arthur smirked but did as Gaius had suggested, gingerly laying his head back and closing his eyes, trying to recall even the smallest scrap of information that would tell him what had happened to Merlin. He looked pitifully up at Gaius, who was watching him intently. "Come on, Gaius, can't you give me just a _little_ hint?" the injured prince pleaded.

Gaius deliberated, but finally sighed and said, "Do you remember anything about the council meeting yesterday morning?"

Arthur thought hard. Suddenly, something came to him. "I was late, wasn't I? Because of Merlin! He…" Arthur trailed off, racking his brain for memories but not being able to conjure them in any semblance of order. "I… don't know."

Gaius looked at the prince almost mournfully, and Arthur demanded, "Tell me what happened to Merlin. Is he alright, Gaius?"

Gaius hesitated. He opened his mouth, about to respond, but was interrupted as King Uther swept regally into the room, hastening to his son's bedside. "Arthur!" the king breathed, relieved that his son was awake and apparently lucid. "How are you feeling?" Without waiting for an answer, Uther spun on Gaius. "How is he feeling?" he asked, every bit the concerned father, a side that Arthur rarely ever saw of the man.

Gaius glanced between the two royals before answering, "He is responding as well as can be expected, Sire. He has lost a bit of memory, and does not recall how his injuries happened. I believe that it would be best if his memories returned in their own time. He is showing no sign of infection and his wounds are healing nicely. He will recover completely, given time and rest."

Uther nodded, clasping Gaius firmly on the shoulder in thanks. "You have always served me well, Physician. Thank you for caring for my son." He nodded, dismissing Gaius from the room.

Arthur glared moodily at Gaius, not at all happy that he was to be kept in the dark about whatever had happened. Now that his father believed that it was best if Arthur wasn't told anything, he would be hard pressed to discover what had happened to his servant unless he dug into his mind and retrieved the memories himself.

Suddenly, Arthur didn't feel so pleased with himself anymore, and he resigned himself to a visit of mindless chatter with his father, who spoke of nothing but taxes, how evil magic was, and the kitchen's new strawberry tarts, determined not to impede his son's recovery in any way. Of all the times that King Uther had to act like a caring father, this was the most inopportune, and Arthur had to admit that he had never been less happy to know that his father was concerned about him.

* * *

Merlin woke up to the strangest sensation. He felt like he was floating, back and forth, and although the feeling wasn't necessarily unpleasant, it wasn't very enjoyable either. He heard an odd sound, like water splashing , and he realized that he must have been on a boat. Why on earth was he on a boat? The only boat he had ever been on was the little dinghy that he had used to get to the Isle of the Blessed.

A particularly large wave rocked whatever vessel Merlin was on, and everything suddenly came back to the warlock. The raiders from the North, the strange case of mistaken identity, and the door that had hindered his escape. Merlin tried to quell the rising fear as he realized that he had been taken onto one of the raiders' boats. He was a captive, and if they were out at sea like the rocking boat and splashing waves were telling him, then there was going to be no easy escape. Merlin could do magic, yes, but there was something that he couldn't do, and that something was swim.

Merlin's eyes jerked open as the full severity of his predicament rained down on him, igniting a fierce spark of panic. After clearing his vision, he saw that he was lying on a hard, lumpy cot in a tiny, unfamiliar room. There were no windows, and the only piece of furniture present was the cot and a small stool in the far corner of the room near the door. The stool was currently occupied by a small, nervous looking kid a few years Merlin's junior. The boy had brown hair and wide eyes, and was staring timidly at the prisoner.

Merlin realized that his right shoulder was aching fiercely, and glanced up to see that his right wrist had been secured one of the cot's posts. He managed to wriggle into a slightly more comfortable position, alleviating a bit of the pressure on his shoulder, and made eye contact with his visitor, who looked like he would rather be anywhere else in the world but here. Both young men sat in silence, staring at one another, each waiting for the other to speak first.

Finally, the strange boy spoke. "Sorry about the door," he said in an odd, lilting accent similar to the one used by the raiders, but not as harsh or guttural. "Didn't know you'd be standing in front of it."

Merlin brought his left hand to his right shoulder, slowly massaging the irritated joint as he studied the other boy. The kid didn't look like a big threat, but Merlin knew that looks could be deceiving. Still, there was something in this boy's eyes that made Merlin want to trust him, if only a little. Merlin, knowing that he couldn't afford to even consider trusting anyone on this ship, responded stiffly, "Who are you?"

The boy gulped. "Erm… my name's Kol?" he answered, sounding unsure of himself. Merlin refused to pity him, even if he was ridiculously nervous for whatever reason.

"You don't sound too sure of that," Merlin pointed out, his voice still emotionless. "I'm M—Arthur," he quickly corrected, knowing that if these men found out that he wasn't actually the prince of Camelot, they'd kill him in heartbeat. He had to come up with a plan, and until he did, he was going to have to play along and pretend to be royalty. That should be interesting.

Kol furrowed his eyebrows. "Trust me, I know. You're all everyone's been talking about this whole raid. Personally, I don't see what all the fuss is about. No offense."

Merlin raised his eyebrows, ignoring the pounding in his head and jaw from being knocked out. "Offense taken," he replied, trying to sound as prattish as possible. If he had to be Arthur, he was going to go all out in his imitation of the prince. "Now tell me, what do you want with me?"

Before Kol could answer, the door to Merlin's prison swung open and the humongous leader of the raiders that Merlin had seen earlier ducked through the door and into the room. He was so large that he took up most of the small cabin. Merlin did his best to look disinterested like Arthur would most likely do, but he found it hard when looking between Kol's terrified and suddenly sympathetic gaze and the lead raider's bulging muscles.

"Well, hello, your highness," the leader sneered, showing off no more than ten yellow teeth. "We've been waiting all night for you to wake up. And now that you're back with us, the crew and I have decided that it's time for a little entertainment." Merlin's eyes grew wide as the man backed out of the room to allow two smaller (but not by much) raiders to enter the room, heading for Merlin.

"Bring him. It's time to have some fun."

* * *

**A/N: Oooh… and the plot thickens. Please review, and I'll update soon! I promise! :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	5. Chapter Four: Entertainment and Pain

DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Merlin_. If I did, the show would still be going on, and EVERYONE (except Uther and other undesirables) would be alive, and Mergana wouldn't be my dream, but a reality! :) Heehee...

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**A/N: Hey, guys! I know I said I would update in a timely fashion, but****… ****look who you're talking to here! LOL!it's time to play: WHEEL OF EXCUSES! Will it be: I got hurt again and haven't felt like doing much at all lately? I'm taking a seminar class with ridiculous amounts of reading and writing and haven't had much time for fan-fiction? I've been spending every extra moment of my time with le boyfriend, whom I will be graduating without at the end of the semester, so I want to spend every second available with him? I've been so focused on my original books that I haven't been able to write fan-fiction? And the wheel lands on****… ****ALL OF THE ABOVE! I am very sorry for the delay! I've got to stop making promises that I apparently can't keep, and just say I'll update as soon as I can! Anyway, I want to thank everyone for their support, reviews, poking, and prodding for me to continue. I will assure you right here and now that no matter how crazy real life gets, and no matter how long of a hiatus might spring up between updates, I will ALWAYS come back to this story! You can count on that! ;) Anyway, I'll shut up now. Please read, review, and ENJOY!**

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**This Cold Land**

**Chapter Four: One Man****'****s Entertainment is Another Man****'****s Pain**

They unlocked Merlin's wrist from the bed and dragged him out of the small room, down several dark, narrow hallways, and up several sets of steep, creaky stairs. The whole time, the ship continued to shift and bob under their feet, and Merlin's stomach shifted and bobbed with it. His head was still spinning from having just woken up – he might even have a concussion – and along with the horrible sensation that Merlin could only attribute to seasickness, his stomach was knotted up with anxiety about his current situation, and about Arthur's. The _real_ Prince Arthur hadn't looked so good after that heavy blow to the head, and Merlin hoped he was recovering and hadn't been harmed further in any way. A part of him also wished that Arthur was well and on his way to rescue Merlin, because at this point the secret wizard and pseudo prince really had no idea how he was going to get out of this one while he was stuck out in the middle of the ocean. Another part of him wanted the complete opposite, because Arthur really didn't need to risk his life for Merlin's yet again, especially when the stakes were _this _high.

Merlin's blurry internal debate was brought abruptly to a halt as he and his massive captors arrived at their destination: It was a large, airy room, but still not out in the open air. There were small windows dotted along the ship's walls, and Merlin could see the sparkling ocean – a beautiful sight from being safe on a beach and not surrounded by raiders perhaps, but terrifying to Merlin in his current predicament.

There were several other raiders in the room, and Merlin did a quick head count to see just how outnumbered he was. It didn't look good. Other than the three men that had escorted him here (Kol was nowhere to be seen at the moment, but Merlin didn't pay his absence much mind because he had more pressing things to worry about), there were seven other great bearded giants with bulging muscles, horrendous body odor, and leering faces around him. Merlin didn't think that this was all of the raiders, but he supposed that some of them had to steer the ship, man the sails, and do whatever else it was that people on boats were supposed to do. Either way, he was vastly outnumbered physically with just _one_ of these men, and with ten of the largest brutes he had ever seen surrounding him, he didn't even know that his magic would be much use here, especially since they were still on a boat.

The leader shoved Merlin forward, and he stumbled, still not quite used to the rocking under his feet. Merlin straightened up, held his head up high, and tried not to get sick on the dingy floor of the deck. After several moments' silence, Merlin spoke up in the haughtiest voice he could manage, as he had a feeling that this was just what Arthur would have done – no matter how stupid it seemed to the sorcerer servant who prided himself to be much wiser than "the other side of the coin". "Well?" he said. "Why am I here? I assure you, if you want me to do a jig or juggle for your amusement, you're out of luck. I'm rubbish, and even if I weren't, I wouldn't stoop so low as to degrade myself by doing it for _you_."

Damn. Had he said too much? Merlin knew Arthur like he knew the back of his own hand, and yet he was so flustered right now that he wasn't sure how much of the prince he was conveying through his words. Merlin himself prattled on when he was nervous, and he had a feeling that he sounded more like a bumbling idiot than a smart-mouthed, clever-clogs of a prince right now. His burly audience was quiet for a short time, but then they burst out into a collective laugh, which was, in Merlin's opinion, much scarier than when they had been glaring at him. Now, he could see their teeth, which were rotten, or missing, or a combination of the two.

"So you're a joker, eh?" a brown-haired raider with a beard braided into three uneven parts chortled. "Who woulda thought, the great Prince Arthur's a funny-man?"

"I think it's funny that _he__'__s_ a prince at all!" another man belted out, his eyes gleaming darkly. "Wee stick of a man, he is! Not even enough there to clean between my teeth!" The odd thing was, this particular raider only had four teeth, and saliva flew out of his mouth with every syllable.

Merlin grimaced to show his disdain for the comments and insults that were hurled his way, each one more slanderous and disgusting than the last, until Merlin was having to do his best not to go completely red in the face. As it was, his ears were burning, and his hands were clenched tightly at his sides. It took all of his willpower _not_ to lash out with his magic. If he did, and even if he managed to take out all of these heavily armed men, then what? Starve to death on this tub? No, he had to bide his time and deal with his current predicament as best he could.

"Aw, look, lads," a bald raider with such a large beard that it looked like all the hair from his head had moved to his face, "the prince's feelings are hurt!"

Merlin tried to calm his raging emotions and said in a voice so calm that he barely registered it as his, "A prince is not to be judged by his stature alone, nor by his size and features. A true test of his worth is of his skill as a warrior, his victories in battle, the wisdom of his rule, and the strength of his heart. You may be abnormally large, brutish men, but you have not the mental capacity, the honor, or the wits about you to even _begin_ to compare with me. Keep your insults, your slanders, and your heated words, because compared to me, compared to _Camelot_, a small band of weak-minded raiders is _nothing_."

Silence.

Okay, _now_ maybe he had said too much, but no matter what the consequences, Merlin didn't regret his words. He knew that they were something Arthur would say, and they were also straight from his heart – not necessarily referring to Merlin, though, because although he was pretending to be the prince, he was still speaking of _Arthur._ For while Arthur was still a grand prat when he wanted to be, and didn't always make the right decision, he was a hundred times the man of any of these enormous idiots. As for the horrible things they'd said against Merlin specifically, Merlin just tried to brush off the disgusting comments and thought about Camelot, his friends, and Arthur. He would make it through this and back home, he decided, but winced inwardly as he realized that the men were encroaching upon him, enraged. _If_ he didn't manage to make his captors so mad that they killed him despite the potential ransom money, that is.

Even as Prince Arthur, Merlin _really _needed to learn when to keep his mouth shut.

* * *

The amount of guilt on Sir Leon's shoulders was weighing down on him greatly as he left the prince's chambers, more flustered and concerned than he had been upon entering them thirty minutes ago. Prince Arthur hadn't been able to have any visitors until then, and as Leon had just been released from Gaius's care with the diagnosis of a bad bump to the head, but nothing too serious, he wouldn't have been able to visit the prince, even if Arthur had been allowed visitors before now. Apparently, Arthur had gotten hit by a bigger, stronger raider than Leon had, or maybe he just had a slightly thicker head than the prince, but somehow Leon wasn't sure that was entirely true – nothing against Arthur, of course. Unlike Arthur, whose head injury had been relatively worse than Leon's, the knight could remember most of what had happened when the raiders had attacked them yesterday morning.

Unfortunately, he had let that slip to Arthur, who apparently, according to Gaius, had a mild bout of short-term amnesia, and he couldn't remember anything other than that there had been raiders and he had been hurt. The physician had told Leon before the knight's visit that Prince Arthur was absolutely _not_ to be given any information that he didn't already have, because it could not only damage his head by not allowing him to remember for himself, but it would almost certainly spur the prince into trying to take some kind of action to save Merlin – for although he maintained that he didn't care about what happened to his servant, both physician and knight knew that Arthur had risked his life for the servant for less before, and would be insistent upon doing so again, despite his condition.

It was obvious to Leon that it took all of Gaius's resolve to refrain from telling Arthur in the hopes that he would go after Merlin once he was well (for the fear that he would try to go _before_ he was well), because Merlin was like a son to the old doctor. Leon felt bad for the old man, but was proud that he was making the right decision and keeping the prince's – not to mention Camelot's – best interests at heart. Leon himself would have liked to go after the raiders who had Merlin – because it had become quite apparent to Leon when they started addressing Merlin instead of Arthur that they, for some reason or another, thought that _Merlin_ was _Arthur _and had taken the serving boy instead. This was very unfortunate, for despite Gaius's solemn confidence that Merlin would be able to hold his own until some form of help arrived, Leon knew that the skinny servant, no matter how stubborn and resourceful he was, was no match for the likes of which he was now trapped. No matter how much Sir Leon wanted to go and help the servant, it was impossible as he had his duties here, and there was no way that he would be able to find and save Merlin on his own anyway.

At any rate, Leon had entered Arthur's chambers with a mind full of warnings from Gaius, and had fully intended to stick by them completely. However, one thing led to another, and after ten minutes or so of discussing each other's health and well-being, and another five of idle talk, Arthur asked Leon a question about the raiders' attack, and Leon had unwittingly revealed to the prince that he knew more about the events that had transpired than he was letting on. Previously, Arthur had assumed that since Leon had been knocked out before Arthur that he didn't know anything more about the situation than his superior did. Now, however, that Arthur realized that Leon knew about what had happened to Merlin, he hadn't let up questioning his knight for a second.

Leon had refused to talk about the boy, but he knew that it had to be pretty obvious in his face and eyes that all was not well with the servant. When Arthur threatened to get out of bed and go searching for answers himself if Leon didn't tell him what he knew, the flustered knight had been forced out of the room by an entity almost as frightening as the terrible raiders he had fought the day before: an irate Gaius with a vial of sleeping potion and a protective gleam in his eyes. He had waited outside until Gaius had managed to make Arthur drink the potion (and just _how_ Gaius had managed to do this, Leon didn't know, because even a weakened and injured Arthur was a hell of a lot stronger than a healthy Gaius), and then the physician had told Leon gravely that it might be best if he didn't come back until tomorrow at least, when the prince might have more of his wits about him. Leon got the feeling that he had made things even worse for the patient and caretaker, and so he had slunk off to the training grounds, guilt crushing down on his armored shoulders as he thought about how many people he had failed in the past few days – Arthur, Gaius, Uther, and the person who weighed most heavily on his heart right now – Merlin.

The worst part was, Leon knew that if he _had_ been awake for Merlin's actual capture, he wouldn't have said anything. Yes, he liked the boy, and he would do just about anything within his ability as a knight of Camelot to protect him from men like the raiders, but Arthur was the prince, and he was and always would be Leon's first priority. Leon was actually glad that he had been knocked out first, because he wouldn't have been able to bear the shame and the guilt at the bewildered look in the servant's eyes when he realized that Leon was going to stand by and do nothing, and let him be taken in the place of Arthur.

It was a horrible thing to think, and even though it had not come to that point for Leon, he still felt horrible about the path that he would have taken. He had to protect Arthur and Camelot at all cost, and he would have done so, but he also would have hated himself for the rest of his life. He wasn't so sure that he wasn't going to do that at this point, anyway. Leon resolved that if Merlin ever made it back, which, while highly unlikely, wasn't entirely impossible since Merlin_ was_ one of the most resilient and stubborn men he'd ever met, despite his small stature and low ranking, he would ask for the servant's forgiveness, beg for it, even, if it came to it. Leon was a man of honor, and what he would have been prepared to do, while perhaps necessary for the good of the kingdom, was the furthest thing from honorable. Yet a part of him insisted that Merlin would have sacrificed himself in that way in a second for Arthur, and perhaps even had done so by keeping quiet and refusing to try to convince their captors of the truth. Leon wouldn't know for sure, until (or unless) he heard more of the story, because now he only had his own memories to go by.

And they were eating him up inside.

* * *

Merlin's chest heaved with exertion as he hefted the heavy metal rod for the fifth time since the raiders had begun their "entertainment" session. After Merlin had made his noble but idiotically stupid speech about judging a prince by his victories in battle and other such nonsense, he had expected to have been beaten to a pulp then and there for his impertinence. Instead, after his captors had made a tighter circle around him, they had announced that if that was how Prince Arthur felt, they should go ahead and get on with the entertainment that had been planned for today – a so-called tournament where the prince would have to fight each one of the ten Vikings present. It was an entirely unfair game, one which, even had Merlin been as great of a fighter as Arthur, would have meant many bruises and much pain, because even a great warrior cannot be expected to go up against ten men in a row, ten times bigger than he is, without becoming utterly exhausted and retaining a few blows. Merlin had been terrified, of course, because when it came to non-magical combat, he was positively pathetic compared just to Arthur, but against these giants? He was doomed!

The good thing was, he supposed, that they had not been willing to risk killing him because of their desire for the hefty ransom that they _thought_ their captive would bring them, and they also were not willing to put a sword in the hands of their opponent in such a small space, so they had deemed that long, thick, ridiculously _heavy_ metal rods would be the weapons of choice in this tourney. As it turned out, these rods seemed to weigh almost as much as Merlin himself did, and at first, the sorcerer could barely lift his at all.

He had closed his eyes briefly, under the guise of preparing himself mentally for battle, and had cast as many non-verbal spells as he could think of to aid him in this trial as he could in thirty seconds. One to make the rod lighter to his hands, another to put a subtle field of protection around him so that fewer hits would actually make contact with his body, and yet another to slightly increase his stamina in the fight. He could care less that he was cheating with magic, something that he would probably be against in just about any other situation, but right now all he could think about was survival and keeping up appearances, which in itself would contribute a lot to his survival in the long run. These weren't particularly powerful or potent spells in themselves, but together, they worked to slightly increase Merlin's chances of _not_ getting immediately beaten to a puddle of wizard on the dirty wooden floor of the longboat's lower deck.

Thanks to his mystical precautions, Merlin had fought quite well against the first four opponents, although admittedly he had not performed _nearly_ as well as Arthur would have. Still, he felt that he had impressed his burly opponents enough so that they _did_ believe that he could be the true Prince Arthur. Even so, these brutes were entirely too strong, too determined to see him fail, and just too nasty for Merlin to keep up with, even with the aid of magic, for long.

By the fifth challenger, his arms felt like they were made up of that delectable jam that Arthur liked to eat on his bread in the mornings, his stomach was not only sick because of the motion of the ship, but was growling with hunger (he hadn't eaten anything since the day before, although he had been given a few sips of some horrible mead to drink between fights), and his head was swimming with exhaustion. When the first real hit from his opponent connected with his midsection, it came as a complete shock, not because he hadn't been expecting to get bruised during this torment, but because of how hard of a blow it was, and how _much_ it hurt. It would have been bad anyway, but when dealt by a man with the strength that this dark-haired, hugely muscled Viking possessed, it felt like his entire body was caving in over the spot where he had been struck. By this point, his magical shield had deteriorated considerably, and his own weapon felt quite a bit heavier in his burning arms.

Despite himself, Merlin crashed to his knees, his lips gaping desperately for any intake of air, his chest heaving without breath. The pain was overwhelming. Hot tears pushed desperately at the back of his eyes, but he forced them back, and once he had maintained minimal control over his breathing, he stumbled to his feet again, but toppled over almost immediately, fatigued and seized with pain. The raider that he bumped into shoved him forward brutally, and he crashed into his opponent, who threw him to the ground with a look of disgust on his scarred, bearded face.

Merlin groped for his rod, but wasn't fast enough as the other man swung his weapon down again, this time at Merlin's chest. Merlin just managed to roll out of the way of the rod, but didn't miss it entirely. The cold, hard metal made ruthless contact with Merlin's left wrist, and he heard something crack right before the all-consuming pain hit. He let out a strangled cry but dove desperately for his only means of defense, hefting it weakly in his right hand even as a burning tear of agony made its escape past Merlin's heavily guarded barriers. The Viking swung again, and Merlin closed his eyes for a split second in order to covertly cast a spell, and was just able to block the man's blow from connecting with his ribs. Merlin shakily stood, bent over on himself due to the pain, his broken left wrist pulsing with pain and hanging limp at his side, but he didn't back down. Instead, he shut his eyes briefly as if trying to overcome the pain, and muttered the most powerful but least obvious spell that he could think of to give him the strength to finish this. "_Cael corff cryf ac arfau!__"_he whispered, and it looked to all the spectators that he was just murmuring some form of explicative or perhaps even self-encouragement beneath his breath as he tried to get past the pain. He hadn't wanted to use any verbal spells if he had any other choice, but obviously, he didn't at this point, but none of the raiders seemed to have noticed or suspected anything.

Aided by his spell, sheer determination, and the most potent desperation the young warlock had ever experienced, Merlin lunged forward despite the biting pain, taking his adversary by surprise. Using the shock to his advantage, he dodged the wild swing of the Viking's rod and drove his own weapon into the man's muscled chest. Despite the layers of muscle that protected him, the man doubled with the force of the blow, and as soon as his unkempt head was within Merlin's reach, the warlock swung the rod with all his might, as well as the might from his spell, and crashed the metal into the man's head with a horrendous _clang _and far more strength than a one-handed blow should have dealt. The man crumpled, but the desperate Merlin was beyond reason, and he swung the pole again, and hit the man on the chest. Something snapped. Merlin raised it again, but wasn't able to go through with the blow as something heavy crashed into his skull (a fist?), and he fell to the ground, stunned in a hazy state between consciousness and sleep.

The last thing he heard before he fell into unconsciousness was the leader of the raiders cursing and saying, "Damn prince's stronger than he looks. Take'em below, and we'll finish this later."

Merlin slipped away thinking that he _really_ did not like the boiling tone of the Viking, and he really didn't want to see what his captors had in mind for him later, especially now that he had genuinely made them angry.

Then everything was black, and blissful nothingness.

* * *

**A/N: I know, I know! I****'****ve got to stop with the cliff-hangers, but it****'****s soooo hard! :) Besides, I****'****ve got to keep you guys reading somehow, right? LOL! So****…**** quite a bit happened in that chapter (yay for stuff happening!). Don****'****t be too mad at poor Leon, because he****'****s not a bad guy, he****'****s just really loyal to Arthur, and, as you can see, he****'****s beating himself up about the whole thing. Enough so, perhaps, that despite his misgivings, he might be spurred into some kind of action to help our endangered warlock at some point****…**** but we shall see. Enough possible foreshadowing there. :) Also, I figure if Merlin can cast spells that protect Arthur, and spells that make him better at juggling (LOL!), he can certainly cast ones like those that he did in the story! And his continued attack on the unconscious Viking might be a little OOC under any other circumstances, but here, I feel that he has more than enough cause to be harried, WAY out of sorts, and to such a point of desperation that he****'****s not entirely in control of himself****…**** and something tells me it****'****s only going to get worse before it gets better****…**** if it gets better at all! Muahaha! ;) Okay, enough of my jabbering. I****'****ve got Spring Break next week, so with luck, I****'****ll be able to update again within the week, although my birthday is a week from Thursday, so I might be busy with birthday stuffs, so we****'****ll have to see. No promises here, because I****'****ll be sure to break them, no matter how hard I strive NOT to! But I _will_ update as soon as I can, and as I said earlier, I will never EVER leave this story, so don****'****t despair****…**** more will always be on its way! Please review, and I****'****ll update ASAP! :D**

**The spell Merlin used translates to: ****"****Have strength body and weapon****"**** in Welsh. :)**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


	6. Chapter Five: The Storm

DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Merlin. _:(

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**A/N: I'm an idiot. I wrote about half of the chapter before I realized that it didn't work with the last one, and I had to start completely over. That's why the chapter took a while to put up (again), because I had to re-write it. Ah well. Hopefully you'll enjoy it! Please review and enjoy!**

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**This Cold Land**

**Chapter Five: The Storm**

Merlin was getting tired of waking up after having been knocked out.

This time, his eyes opened to the same room that he had been in the last time this had happened. He was on the bed again, but this time he wasn't shackled. Every part of his body ached, and he closed his eyes again, trying to pretend that he was anywhere else but here.

"You really made them mad."

Merlin's eyes snapped open and he turned his head to face the direction of the voice. He hadn't realized that he wasn't alone when he had first woken up, but now he saw Kol, sitting a few feet away from Merlin's bed, a small grin on his face. He had had a deep purple bruise on one side of his face, and if Merlin himself hadn't felt like he had been trampled by a herd of wild horses, he might have winced in sympathy.

"Good," Merlin grunted. He moved to push himself up, but his wrist buckled beneath him and pain shot up his arm. The pain was so bad that his vision blacked out for a moment. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and waited for the worst to pass. When the shooting agony had dulled into a steady ache, Merlin squinted his eyes open and looked at the injured arm. He grimaced at the deep bruising and swelling that mottled the disfigured appendage. It was definitely broken. The sight of his wrist made Merlin ill, so he looked away and propped himself up with the arm that didn't look like it had been crushed. He gasped in pain as the new position aggravated the pain in his midsection. He remembered being hit with the metal rod by his opponent.

He took a deep, calming breath and looked at Kol, who looked impressed. "You surprised them," the boy said. "They didn't think you'd have it in you. You don't look like much."

Merlin glared at Kol but didn't have the energy to contradict him. "Thanks," the pretend-prince said sarcastically.

Kol shrugged. "Doesn't matter now, though. They know what you're capable of. You almost killed Alfarin. That's why they knocked you out."

"Didn't realize they cared so much about anyone, even one of their own," Merlin grumbled as he tried – and failed – to find a more comfortable position. Kol looked at the captive sympathetically before rising and gently helping Merlin to a more comfortable sitting position, leaning against the wall. "Thanks."

Kol nodded in acknowledgement of the thanks before sitting down again. "They're normally not. But you'd gone a bit savage, apparently. And Alfarin isn't just anyone. He's the brother of Onäm, our leader."

"Oh," Merlin said, not sure how to respond to that. Finally, he settled with asking, "Does this mean I'll get a bit more respect around here, since I've proven my skill as a warrior? Or am I doomed because I almost maimed the leader's brother?"

Kol's answer was not exactly reassuring. "Both. Just because you're somewhat respected as a warrior doesn't mean they won't hate everything about you. Trust me, the only reason you're still alive right now is because of the ransom they're seeking to get from your father, Prince Arthur." Merlin started. He had almost forgotten during the course of the conversation that he was supposed to be the prince. He'd have to keep his guard off if he wanted to keep this up and get out of this alive.

Merlin didn't answer Kol, but inside, he was bristling from the unfairness of the situation. He had been doing exactly what they wanted him to do – fighting. But when he had come close to hurting one of them, they hated him for it and planned to punish him. It was a stupid, vicious cycle. After a couple of tense moments, Merlin asked his companion begrudgingly, "What happened to your face?"

Kol's expression was surprised, and he lifted up a hand to his cheek briefly. He seemed shocked that the abused hostage would be interested in the slightest about what had happened to him. He shook his head. "Nothing. Just. . . I guess they weren't satisfied with what they did to you. So I got punished, too. Happens all the time. I'm used to it."

The bitter expression on the young man's face was enough to inform Merlin that what Kol had said was a complete lie. He dropped the subject though.

There was an awkward silence. Then –

"What are you doing here, Kol?"

Kol blinked. "I'm on 'guard duty,' but I have a feeling that they just stuck me in here with you because they want me out of their way, too."

Merlin couldn't help but smile slightly at the boy's ignorance. "No, I mean what are you doing _here_? With them? You don't seem like the type of person that is destined to be a raider."

Kol rolled his eyes. "I know, I'm not exactly intimidating." He huffed. "This is what I have to do to support myself and my family. Where I'm from, the ground is too frozen for farming for most of the year. The only _real_ profit is in raiding. I couldn't support my mum and sisters as a black or leather smith."

"That's noble, I suppose," Merlin said slowly, "but, and, um, no offense, but how exactly were you able to _become_ a raider? You don't look like you're much of a pillager."

"I'm more of an apprentice to the Vikings on this ship."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Raiders have apprentices?"

"Rarely. And apprentice is a generous word. It's really more like target practice, slave, or whipping boy," Kol responded somewhat bitterly, but he quickly tried to cover up his true feelings. "But I am able to keep enough of the plunder to bring back to my family. And the only reason I was granted the apprenticeship in the first place is because one of the men is my uncle."

Merlin nodded. "That was . . . kind of him."

Kol's eyes were dark. "Yeah," he ground out.

Another silence, this one even more awkward than the first ensued.

"You could always leave," Merlin said. "Take your family and move away. Camelot would harbor you."

"Yes, I'm sure your father would be thrilled to house a raider's apprentice and his lowly family," Kol snorted.

"I'm just saying, there's got to be a better way than—"

"Well, there's not!" Kol snapped angrily. He stood up and the chair almost tipped backwards at the force of the movement. "I do what I have to do in order to protect those I love. I wouldn't expect a mighty prince to understand what it's like to be poor and dependent. So just. . . shut up." Kol sat back down, crossing his scrawny arms over his chest.

Merlin wanted to tell him that he _did_ understand, but he couldn't without revealing his true identity. Finally, he decided on joking in order to diffuse a bit of the tension. "That was shaping up to be a rather dramatic exit," he observed. "If you had actually gone through with it, I'd have been impressed."

Kol snorted. "Yes, well, like I said, guard duty."

The door opened. Merlin's eyes flicked to the newcomer, grimacing when he saw that it was Onäm, the leader of the crew of raiders. "Ah, you're awake, your highness," the man said sarcastically, smirking. "Good."

Merlin swallowed, not liking the dark gleam in the man's eyes at all.

"Kol, go bother Alfric." Kol shot Merlin one last look before scampering out of the room to find Alfric.

The Viking stepped further into the room, towering over his captive. "That was impressive, I'll give you that," he said slowly, eying Merlin like he was a piece of dirt that he had found under his nail. "You almost killed my brother."

"So I heard."

"He'll be all right, though, unless I decide to kill'em for losing to a runt like you." He grinned – it was more of a sneer, really – and Merlin wasn't entirely sure if the man was serious or not.

"I am the prince of Camelot," Merlin said firmly. "I beat your man in a fair fight. I am no _runt_."

Onäm smirked. Then he changed subjects entirely, which surprised Merlin. "Are you hungry, Prince Arthur?"

Merlin thought about replying with a belligerent _no_ just to spite his captor, but his stomach chose that moment to let out a pitiful growl, reminding the warlock how hungry he actually was. Onäm grinned, showing off his teeth and lack thereof. Merlin stuck his chin up defiantly but answered honestly. "Yes."

The raider gave a slight nod. "Let me tell you how this is going to work, _your highness_." He spat the last two words like they were comprised of poison. Merlin raised his eyebrows but didn't reply. "It is a _long_ journey back to our land, and because we are all looking forward to the hefty fortune your father's going to give us in return for you, we're not going to kill you."

"I'm sensing that there's a 'but' coming on," Merlin muttered sardonically, and his comment was instantly rewarded with a sharp backhand to the face. Merlin gasped, bringing his uninjured hand to his face, which felt like it had caved in completely. His teeth and jaw throbbed with pain, and blood seeped from his mouth and a new cut on his cheek. He had a feeling that the side of his face would be matching Kol's by the end of the day, once the bruise had a chance to settle in. It felt like Onäm had more sheer force in one hand than Merlin could muster in his whole body without the aid of magic.

"Just because your father is a king and you are a spoiled brat does not mean that you'll be treated as royalty here, prince. You will only speak when you are allowed to. You will do what we say, when we say, and how we say. If not, you won't eat. We'll just keep you healthy enough so that you'll be alive when we trade you for the money, but people can live through some pretty uncomfortable positions. So if you want to eat, you'll behave. Understood?"

Merlin didn't respond, but his stomach grumbled. He cursed it for being so transparent. Onäm was slightly amused. "It will be over a month before you see dry land again, prince. But don't be looking forward to a warm welcome when you reach shore, either. If you behave, and your father complies, you might see your precious Camelot by this time next year. If not, you'll end up at the bottom of the sea, or as a slave. I want you to think about what you have to look forward to if you and your father don't play fair."

Onäm rose to his feet. Merlin's heart was in his throat, and he wondered if he might be able to take out the man with magic and somehow manage to take control of the ship before things got any worse. He knew that it was folly, of course, because there was no way that he would be able to take down as many men as were on the boat, especially in his weakened state, even with his magic. And if he were somehow able to, he'd never be able to sail the ship or find his way back to land. He was pretty sure that nautical spells were completely out of his range of knowledge, but he vowed that if – no, when – he made it back to Camelot, he would teach himself how to magically direct a vessel, and how to divine his place at sea and how to navigate. If there were no spells for nautical navigation, he'd learn how to read a map and a compass. But he was never going to find himself in a situation like this again.

"I'll have Kol bring you dinner," the raider said, his tone condescending. "But it might be the last you get for a while. I really don't like your attitude, wee Arthur. I'm looking forward to changing that."

He left the room, slamming the door behind him. Merlin heard a lock click into place. His heart and stomach sick with worry, seasickness, and hunger, he lay back down on his cot. Five minutes later, Kol came back with a small cut of dry, crusty bread and some of the sourest mead that Merlin had ever tasted, and that left him feeling thirstier than before.

Merlin devoured it all. It tasted like dirt mixed with blood. He realized that he was tasting his own blood from when Onäm had hit him earlier. His stomach churning, wrist burning, and heart sinking, Merlin finished his "meal" feeling more starved than he had been before. He hoped that Arthur appreciated what his servant was going through for him. He hoped even more that the real prince had devised some kind of rescue attempt, although from past experiences with mixed-up kidnappings, he knew that Uther didn't care much about the fate of the person being held for ransom, as long as it was a servant and not his precious ward, or in this case, his son.

Merlin's predicament was looking to be grimmer by the second.

* * *

Two weeks passed in a blur of pain, hunger, bruises, and terrible food.

At least, Merlin _thought_ that it had been two weeks. He couldn't be completely sure, because time had begun to blur together for him on this hellhole of a ship, and it felt like he had been a prisoner for two _years_ instead of two weeks. He had never been so miserable, and the worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it, other than pretend to be a prat and survive the best that he could. His magic made life somewhat bearable, and without it, Merlin knew that he would have been found out or maybe even dead by now. As it was, his magic was what allowed him to have a hope of escape once he was on dry land again, and it gave him a slight peace of mind in knowing that he wasn't actually helpless: It just felt like he was.

After his conversation with Kol upon waking after the "melee" so many days ago, Merlin found that he felt a little bit of sympathy toward the boy, and after a particularly difficult day, he found that he quite enjoyed having someone who somewhat understood his situation to talk to, if only to get his mind off of his pain, hunger, and seasickness.

A lot of the time, Merlin was alone. Sometimes they shackled him to the bed, although there was no reason for them to do so, considering that they were on a boat in the middle of the ocean, and Merlin couldn't escape on his own, even with his secret weapon, magic, on his side. Other times they just locked the door to his "cabin." It didn't really matter to Merlin, because as long as he was left alone, he could magic his way out of the chains. Every few days, they would come for him. He was forced to fight for their amusement, and each time, he grew wearier and more desperate. If he injured any of them seriously, he would then be punished further (usually resulting in brand new bruises or food deprivation), even though he was doing exactly what they wanted. They were tough Vikings, and broken bones didn't bother them (and Merlin _had_ managed to give a few of those), but Merlin came to realize that they put him in the position for their own sick amusement.

They didn't always feed him, but when they did, it was only once a day and was never anything other than that horrid bread and the odd, burning mead. Occasionally, he got a piece of cheese or a small bit of water, but for the most part, he was kept away from any of the other food that they claimed had to be rationed, although Merlin knew for a fact that they feasted like kings every evening.

It had been roughly fourteen days. And the journey was still not over. Merlin sat on his cot, unshackled today, but feeling more chained down than ever before. He had been left alone for almost twenty-four hours, and he hadn't eaten in longer. He had a flagon of the mead to drink when he was thirsty, but he was always thirsty.

Merlin _hated_ being so helpless. He was sick, angry, injured, and he just wanted to get back to Camelot. He wanted to hug Gaius, see Gwen, and even clean Arthur's dirty laundry. Thinking about the prince always made Merlin feel a little bit better, even though it also added to his sadness. He knew that Arthur would be doing everything in his power to find and save him, and even though the chances were slim that Uther would allow any such rescue attempt, and the chances even slimmer that anyone would be able to track Merlin and his captors down on the open ocean, the idea that there was someone actively trying to bring him back was enough to give Merlin the strength he needed to press on.

The ship groaned and the world shifted as it crested a wave. Merlin's stomach didn't like this very much, and he lay back on his cot, closing his eyes, but this only made the sick feeling worse. Merlin groaned. He wished that there was something he could do to make his stomach stop lurching in time with the ship, but in his time alone, he could try every spell he could think of. Apparently, seasickness was impervious to magic. Merlin thought that he could deal with the beatings, and even the hunger, if he could just get rid of the sickness. It had gotten progressively worse over the past few hours.

He heard a key in the lock, and he groaned. He didn't want anything to do with his captors, and he was in such a foul mood today that he didn't even think that Kol's relatively friendly face would be even remotely helpful. Even so, he would have very much preferred Kol to the man that actually came through the door. It was Onäm, the leader of the Vikings. And he did not look happy.

"What do you want?" Merlin asked sourly. He'd gotten hit many times for his impertinence, and this time was no exception. He knew the blow was coming, though, so he was able to brace himself before the enormous man's meaty hand smashed into his chest. The pain crashed through him, and he heard something snap. He gasped for breath, crying out when simply inhaling caused him even greater pain. He was pretty sure he'd broken a rib.

Onäm smiled darkly, the expression on his ugly, brutal face feral. He smelled of sweat, spoiled meat, and sea spray. He was slightly damp, which only succeeded in worsening his stench. Merlin breathed shallowly through his mouth, slightly comforted and amused at the realization that the Viking's body odor was actually helping Merlin to breath in a way that was easy on his busted ribs. "There's a storm brewing," Onäm said, a wild fire in his eyes. A surge of dread pulsed through Merlin's body. Gods, no.

Onäm looked pleased, and Merlin took that as a testament to how wild and twisted his sea-faring captor really was. He had faced many storms at sea and probably enjoyed the rush that the brush with death gave him, like when Arthur competed in a tournament and enjoyed himself. Merlin had never understood it, especially now that he had been forced to participate in several "tournaments" himself during his time as a hostage on the ship.

"What does that… have to do… with me?" Merlin gasped out, his ribs protesting every time he took in a breath.

Onäm seemed to consider punching Merlin again, but he answered the question instead. "The lower decks usually flood during storms," he informed his prisoner, and the answer made Merlin feel like he'd been punched in the gut, anyway. "Can't have you drowning below deck when we're just a few weeks away from shore. You're coming above deck."

No, no, no, no, no. Merlin had heard of the terrible storms that occurred in the ocean, and he had been terrified of being caught in one since he had first woken up to discover that he was out in the open waters. He couldn't swim, and if he got swept overboard, he would drown, magic or not.

"I—" he started, but his stomach threatened to rebel as the ship went over a particularly large wave. Onäm lumbered forward, grabbed Merlin's upper left arm, enveloping several overlapping bruises that had been inflicted over an extended period of time. Merlin barely winced. The nausea in his stomach wasn't just from seasickness anymore. It was from pure terror. Onäm reached into a fold of his breeches and pulled out a length of rope, spinning Merlin around and tying his wrists behind his back. This time, the pain bit through his fear as Merlin's broken wrist (it had been set and bound by Kol a few days after the injury had occurred, but Kol was far from being a physician) protested the rope tightening mercilessly around it. His wrists bound, Merlin was shoved out of the door, up several sets of stairs, the floor lurching wildly underneath his wobbling legs all the way. He was shaking from fear and malnourishment as he was led up to the upper deck, where _cold_ was added to the reasons why he was shivering. The sea air was cold, and rain was falling lightly, although Merlin knew that this was just the beginning. Each drop stung his skin. Even the dim light of the mostly obscured sun burned his eyes; this was the first time that he had been up, out in the open air, since he had involuntarily boarded the ship. He had been to higher decks, but never had he been on the highest.

For the first time since his capture, Merlin stood on deck and saw the endless ocean on all sides – water as far as the eye could see. His stomach turned in fear as he saw the quickly building waves, the grey, frothing waters, and the hastily darkening skies. Vikings were scurrying around the deck, raising or lowering sails (Merlin really had no idea what was going on, but there was a lot of rope pulling, cursing, and yelling).

"Kol!" Onäm yelled, and Merlin didn't know what made the raider think that his apprentice would hear him over the rapidly swelling wind and the noise of the other men. Just a few seconds later, though, the pasty-skinned stick of a "Viking" trotted up, his face even paler than usual.

"Yes, Sir?" the boy asked, casting a semi-sympathetic look at the bound and openly afraid "prince" beside him.

Onäm handed him some more rope. "Take care of our guest, and then secure yourself, boy. You know what to do."

"Yes, Sir."

His smaller, gentler hand replaced Onam's meaty and rough one on Merlin's arm, and Kol led Merlin across the deck to the mast. "Stand here," he instructed, pushing Merlin lightly so that his back was against the mast. Without another word, Kol quickly and efficiently bound Merlin to the mast from his neck to his knees. Merlin grunted in pain as his broken wrist was rubbed against the grainy wood of the mast. "Sorry. Should've untied your wrists first," Kol apologized when he realized his mistake. Merlin was in far too much pain and was experiencing too much fear and nausea to respond. He watched as Kol cut the rope off at Merlin's knees after checking to be sure that Merlin was bound securely. He then wrapped the rope around his own waist several times, tied it off, and then secured the end of the rope to the mast as well. "Smaller men like me have to be careful, or we'll be swept overboard," he said.

Merlin appreciated the thought, but he would much rather be below deck – not in the place where it flooded, of course, but maybe right below this deck – free and dry, than standing, tied to a mast, and forced to endure the full terror of the storm on deck with the rest of the crew.

As the rain pelted down harder, the wind picked up, and the waves rolled, Merlin couldn't stop the all-encompassing tremors that shook him from head to toe. _Please_, he thought desperately as a streak of lightning flashed across the sky, much too closely for Merlin's liking, and charged the air with almost tangible electric power. _I just want to go home._

The sky opened up, the rain poured in sheets, the wind howled vengefully, and the boat jerked wildly. Merlin closed his eyes, braced himself, and entered into hell.

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**A/N: I know, a horrible place to stop, but at least I updated… and gave an even longer chapter than usual! :) We'll see more of Arthur next chapter, and, of course, more of the storm. Poor, poor Merlin! :( Please review, and I promise to update as soon as I can!**

**~Emachinescat ^..^**


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